Hook line and single, p.2
Hook, Line and Single, page 2
‘How was your weekend?’ he asks after he’s plugged in the barista coffee machine and switched it on to heat up. When we first opened the shop, we worked six days a week, only taking Sundays off, but we quickly agreed that was too punishing a schedule and, as Mondays tended to be quiet, we decided to shut the shop and start our working week on a Tuesday instead.
‘Same old,’ I tell him. ‘I finished the new Amrit Kumar novel.’
‘Love and Loss Under an Indian Sun? How was it?’
‘Good. I’ve done a “Ruby’s Recommendation” card for it.’
‘Great. And Sam? Still no sign of love on the horizon?’
‘It’s only been two weeks, Jono.’
‘Yes, but a woman like that needs to be adored. If I were straight—’
‘You’d worship her like a goddess, I know. You’ve told me more times than I care to remember.’
‘A flame-haired goddess.’
‘Are you sure you’re not in love with her? Does Robbie know?’
‘Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty in a woman, and my admiration for her is purely based on aesthetics, like a fine artist appreciating his subject. In fact, a lot of the great artists were obsessed with redheads, so I’m in good company. Look at Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, for starters.’
‘OK, OK. You win!’ I tell him exasperatedly. ‘Redheads rule the world and the rest of us are flat and monochrome in their presence. Is that better?’
He sighs. ‘I’m not saying you’re flat and monochrome, Ruby. You’re beautiful too, but in a different way. You’re more pre-Raphaelite, with your wavy dark locks, your piercing blue eyes and your sumptuous curves.’
‘Are you saying I’m fat now?’ This is a new one from him, and I’m not going to let him get away with it.
‘Of course I’m not! Bloody hell, you’re prickly this morning. I’m paying you a compliment. Would you rather look like one of those depressing undernourished androgenous types who pound the pavement for hour after hour in revolting spandex, only to go home and feast on two sticks of celery and a carrot? Who invented spandex, anyway? They should be ashamed of themselves.’
I smile at him. As attempts to dig himself out of a hole go, that wasn’t too shabby. I’m not quite ready to let him off the hook completely though.
‘Curves,’ I repeat mock-disapprovingly.
‘Sumptuous curves. It’s a good thing.’
‘Hmm. I guess I do prefer my carrots in the form of a cake, but I’m not sure I want to be described as sumptuous. Definitely sounds fat in all but name.’
‘Sit with it,’ he advises. ‘It might grow on you.’
‘I doubt it. Remind me never to ask you if my backside looks big in anything.’
‘You’re a girl, you’re meant to have—’
‘Stop!’ I order him. ‘If you value your life, stop now.’
He grins and winks. ‘If you don’t want to hear the answer, don’t ask the question. Coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I’ll bring it over when the machine’s warmed up.’
It’s a typically busy trading day; the coffee bar is humming with conversation and a fair number of people are browsing the shelves. A teenaged girl is taking a selfie with Samson. I don’t know what he thinks is going on when this happens, but he’s a bit of a social media star locally, so he’s completely used to people shoving their phones in his face. We’ve had a steady stream of enquiries and book orders too, as well as people collecting books that we’ve ordered in and put aside for them.
‘Excuse me?’ I look up to see a woman approximately my age, maybe a couple of years younger.
‘Yes, how can I help?’ I ask.
‘I was looking for a book I saw on TikTok. Something about someone’s beaver needing a trim? Do you know anything about it?’
The double-entendre isn’t lost on me, and I study her for a moment, trying to work out if she’s winding me up.
‘I don’t know that one, I’m afraid,’ I tell her, being careful to keep my voice completely neutral. ‘Do you have any more information?’
‘Hang on,’ she says before turning and yelling at a man facing away from me at the back of the shop. ‘Hey, Jace! What was the name of that book?’
The man turns, and I instantly recognise Sam’s most recent ex-boyfriend, Jason. He was obviously trying to lurk undetected, and he looks decidedly shifty as he approaches the counter.
‘Hello, Jason,’ I say coolly.
‘Ruby.’
‘Oh, do you two know each other?’ the woman asks.
‘We’ve met a couple of times,’ I tell her.
‘That’s nice. Babe, what was the name of that book we were laughing at on TikTok? The one about the beaver?’
‘Dunno,’ he says. ‘Brenda’s beaver something or other.’
‘That’s it. Does that help?’ she asks.
With a sigh, I enter ‘Brenda’s beaver’ into the search box and I’m slightly surprised to see that it returns a title.
‘Brenda’s Beaver Needs a Barber, by Bimisi Tanayita?’ I ask.
‘That’s the one! It’s just the funniest thing ever. I was going to get it for Jace as a surprise for our anniversary, only I guess I’ve kind of spoilt that now.’ She turns to him, giving him the full puppy-dog eyes. ‘Sorry, babe.’
I’m no longer interested in her, or her bizarre-sounding book, as her revelation is tumbling around in my head and not making any sense.
‘Sorry,’ I say to her carefully, fixing my eyes on Jason, who suddenly looks like he’s been caught with his fingers in the sweetie jar. ‘Did you say your anniversary?’
‘That’s right,’ she replies, obviously picking up that something strange is passing between me and Jason as her eyes flick between us. ‘Two years. Why?’
I know the professional thing to do in this situation is to say nothing, but I can’t let Jason get away with this. His eyes are wide, silently pleading with me, but I can feel the heat of righteous anger building inside me.
‘It’s nothing, really,’ I say sweetly to the woman. ‘I’ve heard of open relationships before, but I’ve never actually met someone who’s in one.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘What makes you think we’re in an open relationship? What’s Jason said to you?’
‘Nothing. I just assumed you must be because he was dating my best friend Sam as well for a couple of months. They only split up a couple of weeks ago, so…’ I leave the rest unsaid for her to fill in the blanks herself. I can practically hear the cogs whirring in her head as, beside her, Jason visibly deflates.
‘Sam?’ she hisses at him after what feels like an age. ‘Who the fuck is Sam?’
‘No one,’ he stammers. ‘She was just someone I saw a couple of times in the pub after work. I was friendly, like I always am, but she read more into it and started telling people we were together. She’s a bit of a psycho, if I’m honest, you know the type. Clingy. Nothing happened though, I swear.’
The woman is switching her gaze between Jason and me, like she’s watching some kind of tennis match. I can see the doubt in her eyes and, for a moment, I’m tempted to let this go for her sake, but there’s no way I can let Jason talk about my best friend like that.
‘If anyone’s psychotic here, Jason, it’s you,’ I counter smoothly. ‘You saw her more than a couple of times, and it was serious enough for her to be able to describe your woeful sexual technique in surprising detail.’ Jason’s looking at me furiously, but I’m on a roll now and I just can’t stop myself. ‘You might want to invest in some numbing cream or something. You know, to help you last a bit longer?’
This intimate revelation is obviously the final straw for the woman, who slaps Jason so hard that complete silence falls in the shop as everyone turns to witness the scene unfolding by the counter.
‘You dirty, lying, cheating fucker!’ the woman I suspect has just become Jason’s latest ex yells.
‘Babe, I can explain,’ he begins lamely.
‘Don’t “babe” me,’ she retorts, cutting him off. ‘I’m not your “babe” and I’ll be taking to my socials to make sure you don’t get anyone to call “babe” again. You can fuck right off, wanker.’
With that, she sticks the middle fingers of both hands up at him and stalks out of the shop, slamming the door behind her and leaving Jason open mouthed. I’ve enjoyed the confrontation much more than I have any right to, and I’m making sure I can remember every sentence to give Sam a blow-by-blow account later. I have just one more piece of wisdom to drop to make this piece of schadenfreude perfect.
‘Jason?’ I ask mildly. ‘Have you ever heard the phrase “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”’
‘Oh, fuck off, Ruby,’ he says forcefully, before turning on his heel and walking out of the door. Just before it closes behind him, I hear him shout, ‘Babe, wait!’ but, from the stream of invective that comes back his way, it doesn’t sound like she’s very receptive to that idea.
‘That’ll teach you to cheat on my best friend,’ I murmur as I turn to the next customer and plaster a smile on my face. ‘How can I help you today?’
3
My plan to fill Sam in on the drama at the shop is derailed the moment I walk into our living room and find that we have a guest. A man is sitting on the sofa, looking very much at home with his legs crossed and his arms spread wide, resting on the seat back. He looks vaguely familiar but it takes me a minute to place him. When I do, my mood plummets. I may not have seen him for ten years, but he’s every bit as unwelcome now as he would have been then.
‘Peter Stockley?’ I ask, just to make sure I’m not seeing things.
‘The one and only, although my friends call me Pete now,’ he replies with a smile, making no effort to get up. ‘Nice to see you, Ruby.’
‘This is a surprise. What brings you here?’
‘Yeah, it’s a funny story, as it happens. I’ve recently moved back in with Mum and Dad after the taxman, well, I don’t need to go into the details of that. The point is that I bumped into Sam in the supermarket after work and we got chatting about this and that, reminiscing about the old days, you know how it is. Anyway, one thing led to another and I ended up asking her out for a drink. She’s just getting ready.’
This doesn’t make any sense to me and I’m struggling to digest it.
‘So you just bumped into her quite by chance and, even though you haven’t seen her in, what, ten years, you instantly recognised each other and struck up a conversation?’
‘That’s pretty much the size of it, yeah.’
‘But Peter, Pete, whatever you’re calling yourself now, you barely spoke to her when we were at school. What you did say wasn’t very complimentary, from what I remember. Didn’t you used to call her “Ginger minge”?’
‘It was a term of affection,’ he counters smoothly.
‘I’m not sure Sam saw it that way.’
‘Well, it’s all water under the bridge, isn’t it? It was ten years ago, Rubes.’
‘It’s Ruby,’ I tell him firmly.
‘Didn’t I have a nickname for you too?’ he asks. ‘Hang on, it’ll come to me.’
He’s totally oblivious to my death stare as he tries to remember.
‘Got it!’ he exclaims. ‘Here comes Rubes, with her monster pubes. God, those days were funny, weren’t they? So much banter.’
‘That’s certainly one way of looking at it,’ I tell him coolly. ‘I’ll just go and check on Sam for you, see how she’s getting on.’
‘No worries,’ he says with a grin. ‘I know how you ladies like to look your best for the fellas.’
Sam is standing in front of her wardrobe in her knickers and bra, obviously trying to choose an outfit, when I burst into her room without knocking.
‘What the bloody hell is Peter “hands on” Stockley, the biggest pervert in our year, doing in our living room?’ I ask her incredulously. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘It is a bit weird, isn’t it,’ she agrees calmly. ‘But he gave off a very different vibe when I bumped into him. Much more grown up, I thought. His previous relationship ended badly, and I think it’s forced him to look at himself a bit. Anyway, he seemed nice, so when he asked me out for a drink, I decided to say yes. It’s not like I’ve had any luck with the apps, is it? Maybe meeting someone in real life is the way to go.’ She holds up two summer dresses. ‘Which do you think? The yellow or the blue?’
‘Blue. But Peter Stockley, Sam? Have you forgotten the crude nicknames he gave to pretty much every female in our year, or the way he’d position himself to try and see up our skirts when we were playing hockey? The way he’d “accidentally” rub up against us in the lunch queue, or stare down our tops when we were sitting down and he walked past? In fact, didn’t he drop a pencil into Verity Smythe’s cleavage once and try to retrieve it?’
‘Yeah, but all the boys were a bit like that, weren’t they? He was just a bit more “out there”. Anyway, he’s ten years older now, so it seems fair to give him a second chance. I’m only going for a drink with him, Ruby. I’m not marrying him.’
‘I know,’ I tell her, trying to sound more conciliatory. ‘But I also know you. You’ll be happily ignoring the fact that he appears to talk almost exclusively in clichés because you’ll be too busy looking for every positive, even the faintest spark. And then, when he starts groping you under the table—’
‘He won’t grope me under the table. I told you, he’s changed.’
‘I bet he hasn’t,’ I murmur.
Her eyes narrow. ‘OK then, since you’re so sure, you’re on. What’s the stake?’
‘Dinner at The Mermaid,’ I say after thinking for a moment. The Mermaid is a beautiful four-star art deco hotel that’s recently been completely renovated, and the food there is to die for.
‘Oh, you’re confident. Fine. How do we determine who’s won?’
‘I’m relying on you to be honest. Any funny business or pervy remarks and I win. He has to be a perfect gentleman, all right?’
‘Deal.’
I’m feeling pensive as I rejoin Peter Stockley in the living room. He hasn’t moved and looks every bit as relaxed as when I left him. I’m convinced he won’t have changed, but how to get him to reveal his true colours to Sam before it’s too late and she inevitably falls for him? As it turns out, I don’t need to do anything, as I’ve barely sat down in the armchair furthest away from him when he starts to speak.
‘Before Sam comes out, I wonder if I could ask you a “delicate” question?’ he begins, making air quotes with his fingers as he says the word ‘delicate’.
Frankly, I’d rather not have any conversation with him at all, let alone let him ask me any questions, but I realise I might learn something useful.
‘Of course,’ I tell him. ‘Ask away.’
‘Is it true that when women live together, their monthlies sync up?’
What the hell?
‘I have no idea,’ I say curtly. ‘Why on earth would you want to know something like that anyway?’ I happen to know that Sam’s and my cycles are aligned, but there’s no way I’m sharing that fact.
‘I thought you might be able to help me out, that’s all.’
This conversation is becoming increasingly bizarre. ‘How did you figure that out?’
‘Well, Sam and I are going for a drink, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it might be just a drink, or it might be a drink and more.’
‘More?’
‘Come on, Rubes, we’re both adults and you know what I mean. The point is that it would be really handy to know what stage of her monthly Sam’s at. If she’s got the painters in, I won’t get my hopes up, but if she’s, you know…’
I’m stunned.
‘Let me just check if I’ve got this straight,’ I say slowly. ‘You want me to tell you what stage of my menstrual cycle I’m at, in case Sam is aligned with me, so you can work out whether you’ve got a chance of having sex with her tonight. Is that right?’
He looks absolutely delighted. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head.’
Shit, I should be recording this. Just that on its own would have been enough to get me a free meal at The Mermaid, I reckon, but it doesn’t count because Sam wasn’t here to witness it. I need to up the ante and hope she comes out soon.
‘I’m happy to inform you, Pete, that I’m not currently menstruating,’ I tell him. ‘Can I ask you a question now?’
‘Of course, I’m an open book. No secrets, that’s my motto.’
‘What is it that attracts you to Sam?’
‘What do you mean? She’s a good-looking bird, I mean, woman. Sorry, slip of the tongue. Ha, that’s a good one. Slip of the tongue, right? I might slip her a bit of tongue later, know what I mean? I’ve never had a redhead before. I wonder if the collar and cuffs match.’
He winks. He actually winks. Dear God, how much worse can this get?
‘Have you got a fella in tow?’ he asks while I’m still digesting his last set of bombshells.
‘I haven’t, as it happens. I’m not in the market.’
‘Really?’ His gaze rakes appraisingly over me, making me feel mildly nauseous. ‘I’m surprised to hear that, Rubes, I really am. You’ve grown into yourself since I saw you last, and I don’t mind telling you that you’re a bit of a stunner yourself these days. Tell you what, if things don’t work out with Sam, maybe you and I—’
‘No, thank you,’ I say firmly, cutting him off.
‘Oh, I get it,’ he says after a brief pause, his mouth curving into a lascivious smile. ‘You’re a vagitarian.’
‘A what?’
‘You don’t like the male meat, you’re a rug muncher, a bean flicker. Tell me, have you and Sam ever… you know?’
